


Let Them Eat Cake

by Nuinzilien



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Modern Middle Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-14 13:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8016163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuinzilien/pseuds/Nuinzilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Feanor leaves his sons in a sticky spot, what's an elf to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Them Eat Cake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuxaLucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/gifts).



> Written for the 2016 Sultry in September
> 
> I've never written a Modern AU, but inspiration came from a recent trip to the Wilton Cake Decorating Tent Sale

Fingon fumbled with his keys and groceries, finally managing to push the door open.  He sighed when the precariously perched bag of snacks tumbled down.  “Of course.  Shouldn’t have bought the damned things anyway.”

 

He grunted and pushed the door closed behind himself.  “ ’timo?  Maitimo, a little help with this, please?”  Receiving no answer, Fingon hauled his load to the kitchen, biting off a curse when the apples joined the back of snacks on the floor.

 

Once the mess was cleaned and all groceries put where they belonged, he headed down the hall toward the lit office door.  He opened his mouth to ask his flat mate if he’d lost his hearing along with his hand, then hesitated.

 

The room was a disaster. File cabinets knocked over, recipe cards and files strewn all about, and a suspiciously fist-shaped hole in the wall.  In the center of the storm sat his red-haired lover, legs splayed out, head bowed and shoulders slumped in defeat.

 

Fingon picked his way through the mess, crouching down behind the slumped elf and rubbing at his shoulders carefully.  “That bad, then?”

 

Maedhros sighed.  “Thanks to my Adar, we have no working oven, and the one my brother found cannot be delivered for two weeks.”

 

Alright, that would be challenging, but not unusual.  He began massaging Maedhros’ scalp in slow circles.  “Late nights baking, then?” 

 

“If only it were so simple, Finde.”  Maedhros glanced over his shoulder.  “We have a 2,000 serving order due in a week.  Even at full capacity, it was going to be a stretch.”

 

Fingon winced.  “Aye, alright, it IS that bad.  Is there anything I can do to help without overstepping?”

 

The red-haired elf shook his head.  “Nay.”

 

“Hmm…” the younger elf pulled Maedhros to his feet.  “Alright then.  Go have a nice soak in the bath.  I will braid your hair later.”

 

His tall lover leaned in for a soft kiss, then looked around himself and winced.  “I really am sorry about the recipes, Finde.  And the wall.”

 

He shrugged and gave him a swat on the backside to send him on his way.  “We can patch the wall tomorrow, my love, worry not.  And I needed to sort through those recipe cards anyway.”

 

Maedhros leaned in for another kiss, warmer and lingering this time.  “You are good to me.”

 

Fingon purred into the kiss, taking a moment to savor it before pulling away.  “Aye, I am.  Now off with you before neither of us gets anything done tonight.”

 

“You are a cruel elf, Findekano.”  Maedhros headed for the door, then stopped and glanced back over his shoulder.  “You could join me in the bath.  That would help.”

 

Fingon’s grin was wicked and leering.  “I just might, lover.”

 

~`~`~<@~`~`~

 

The next morning saw Maedhros waking to the most delightful sensations of warmth, wetness, and a clever tongue pulling bliss from him in lazy strokes.  He sighed and rolled his hips into the pleasure, reaching down to tangle his fingers in sleep-warmed hair.  “Aye, Finde… wicked elf.”

 

Said wicked elf hummed and pulled away, resting his cheek on Maedhros’ thigh.  “Took you long enough,” Fingon purred.  “I had begun to wonder if breakfast would grow cold before you finally woke.”

 

Maedhros chuckled and stretched.  “Well, if you were concerned about breakfast, then this was certainly the wrong way to wake me.”

 

“And why is that?”  Fingon nuzzled and kissed his shaft, barely noticing the long legs wrapping around him.

 

“Because…” Maedhros suddenly bucked and twisted, flipping them.  “Now you are mine.”

 

Fingon looked up at the elf straddling him.  “I have always been yours.”  He watched his lover reach for the oil kept in the nightstand.  “And what is it you plan to do with that, Sexy Ears?”

 

“Teach you the error of your ways.”

 

~`~`~<@~`~`~

 

Breakfast was quite cold when they finally made it out of the bedroom, though neither of them minded over much.  Fingon had indeed been taught the error of his ways with great enthusiasm (though not for the first time, and certainly not for the last!  Not with the way his Maitimo looked riding him, back arched and chasing his pleasure with the same single-minded focus he showed on the battle field and in the kitchen.)

 

But now, as Fingon watched, the post-coital contentment leeched from his cousin’s handsome face, his brow furrowing into the solemn brooding he recalled from their first lives.  The dark haired elf sighed.  “You are brooding again, cousin.  Tis unhealthy, you know.  Invites wrinkles.”

 

Maedhros’ brow arched as he reached for his mobile.  “Does it?  You will have to tell me when you see one, then.  But I fear it is a day for brooding when one must cancel on a client.”

 

“The embassy gala, aye?”

 

Maedhros’s thumb hesitated over the ‘send’ button.  “How do you know that?”

 

“Ada and Uncle Ara go every year.”  Fingon lunged across the table and snatched the cellphone away, snapping it closed and cancelling the call.

 

Maedhros blinked in surprise, then sighed and held his hand out.  “Give me the phone, Finde.”

 

Fingon tucked the phone into his pocket.  “Actually, I think I won’t.”

 

The elder elf frowned.  “I am not jesting, Findekano.  Give me my phone!”

“Nay!”

 

“Why are you doing this?”

 

Fingon snapped.  “Because you are being an idiot!” He sighed and carried his plate to the sink.  “We agreed that we would stay out of each other’s professional lives, and until now I have been fine with that.  But if you even THINK about canceling on a client as high profile as this because of a damned OVEN, I will smack you so hard you will wake up back in Aman!”

 

Maedhros scowled.  “We are a bakery and I don’t have an oven, Cousin, so how am I supposed to bake these cakes?  Sit on them?”

 

“Well, with your head stuffed so far up your backside, it would be a bit hard, aye!  But if you would take a moment to pull out and think about it, you would remember you have access to THREE!”

 

At Maedhros’ puzzled expression, Fingon truly thought for a moment that he would throttle him.  “Seriously?  MY ovens, Maitimo.  They may not be as powerful as Uncle Feanaro would like, but they work.  Which is more than you can claim at the moment.”

 

The red-haired elf digested that for a moment.  “Why?”  He held his hand up to forestall the bristling he could see.  “Nay, hold a moment and hear me out.  We… we left Sons of Finwe to start our own bakery in direct competition to you.  Why, after all that has passed between our businesses, our families, would you offer to help us?  Should this not be what we deserve in return for our hubris?”

 

Fingon sighed.  “You truly are an idiot, do you know that?”  He pushed Maedhros’ abandoned plate aside and sat on the table before him.  “Do you believe we want you to fail, my love?”

 

Maedhros looked away.

 

“Idiot.”  The dark-haired elf leaned in, his forehead resting against his lover’s.  “We don’t, actually.  I have heard Ada say on more than one occasion that the family is proud of what you have done.  Our grandfather’s shadow is long, but you have managed to crawl out of it and start casting your own.  Which is wonderful.  But now you have this opportunity that can make or break your career.  You know if you back out on this, the likelihood of getting another chance is almost non-existent.”  At Maedhros’ resigned nod, he pressed on.  “So let the family help.  We won’t even have to be there.”

 

The red-head mulled this over.  “Suppose we accept…what exactly are you offering?”

 

~`~`~<@~`~`~

 

“So,” Maedhros said, eyeing his baking staff.  “Sons will close their doors at seven each night.  They need an hour to clean up, after which they will vacate and we can do what we need to do.  It will still be our recipes, using our ingredients.  We’ll just be doing the cooking in their kitchens.  All they ask is that the kitchens be cleaned and ready for them to use again in the mornings when their bakers start at six.”

 

Maglor frowned.  “I thought they started at four?”

 

“Aye, they usually do.  But they are cutting their hours for this.”  He handed out the updated schedule.  “I tried to divvy the work up evenly, but this will no doubt lead to late nights for some of you, and for that I am sorry.  But it was either this, or cancel on the biggest client we’ve ever had.”

 

There was a bit of grumbling at that, but none of them were strangers to long hours.  “Nelya,” Caranthir spoke up after a time, “What do they want for this?  And why help us when we are the competition?”

 

“Because blood is still thicker than paper, little brother.  As for what they want in return… Grandfather’s Returning Day is coming up.  It would be nice to have a gathering of the full family without an argument breaking out.”

 

“That’ll be the day,” Maglor said with a snort.

 

“Aye, Kana, I know… but we can hope.”  He stood and headed for his office, Maglor following behind.

 

“You know Adar is never going to go for this,” the younger elf said, closing the door.  “He’ll not like the idea of being indebted to them.”

 

“Then I suppose it is a good thing he made me CEO, isn’t it?”  Maedhros sat down in his chair.  “He doesn’t have to make those decisions anymore, so he doesn’t get much say in the matter.”

 

“Mmm… good luck with that sell, brother.  And please let me be there when you tell him that.”

 

“Shut up.”


End file.
